Tables Turned Ch. 06

Bobo has truly taken to his new role in the household. For instance, I've been giving him his food in a dog dish. It even has his name on the side of it. He took to it at once.

Generally, I do the cooking at home. Bobo has no knack for it. However, I make him do everything else, so, at meal times, he sets the table, pours my beverage, and does all the dishes afterwards while I lie on the couch.

When it's time to eat, I get some leftovers from the fridge for Bobo. I just mix it up any old way I please, and dump it into his dish. Last night I gave him a dish that included some old meatloaf, bread crusts, canned lima beans, and a generous pour of ketchup over all of it, and placed it on the floor next to my chair.

I brought my food to the table: lamb chops, steamed broccoli crowns with a bit of aioli, and saffron basmati rice. Yum!

Once I am seated, Bobo comes crawling quietly up to his bowl on the floor beside me and waits. After I've had a few bites, I gesture to him and he begins to eat. At first, he was an absolute slob about it. Food on his face, food on the floor. I had to send him into his closet space many times in the early going, his ass reddened by a good paddling. He presented quite a spectacle scampering down the hallway with his burning asscheeks. But he needed the guidance. He needed the disciplining. And, in the end, he developed very admirable table manners. Or should I say floor manners.

He was eventually so mannered that I would give him pats on the head during dinner, or toss a morsel of my food into his bowl. We were getting along fine.

I have become closer to my friend Cindy after her marriage collapsed. We would meet for a glass of wine in the evenings, or sometimes have dinner together. Still smarting from the cruel behavior of her ex, and his ultimate rejection of her, she tended to fume inwardly, often blaming herself for the failure. I worried about her. She had already been slim (she has a very nice figure, in fact, but she is delicate). But she was slowly losing weight. Naturally pale with light freckles on her cheeks, she now appeared pallid and wan. I did what I could to dissuade her from taking on guilt, and her emotional and physical well-being became a priority for me. I

knew what a scumbag Roland was, and knew that Cindy was more than a little entitled to complete freedom from the ugly shadow he cast over her life.

Slowly, Cindy realized that she had suffered genuine abuse over many years. As this came more into focus, her indignation naturally came to the fore. I saw this as, possibly, the beginning of a cathartic reversal of her downward path. I wished it to be so, and I would do what I could to help.

Once, at a bistro downtown, we were sipping coffee after the meal. I asked her how things were going. Was she feeling any happier? She had ventured out on a couple of dates over the previous weeks, but nothing had come of that. She looked down at the tablecloth and fidgeted with a spoon. Suddenly she brought her fist down onto the table. Everything on it took a little leap. I was more than taken aback. I just sat there and waited. Cindy gave me a grim little smile and suggested that we leave.

We had gone there in my car, so I drove her home. I pulled up to her house and we sat for a moment in the car.

"Cindy, honey, I understand what you're feeling. And what you're feeling right now might not feel good but, believe me, it is." I said.

"I'm sorry I acted that way." she said, looking away from me.

"I'm not." I told her flatly. "Look, you're super pissed off at your dickhead ex-husband. You thought it was all you, but now you know. It was him pulling all the sneaky shit, lying to you, whatever.

There are probably more than a few things you don't know".

"come in for a drink?" Cindy said.

I could see she really needed a friend in that moment.

"Love to."

Inside, Cindy brought two glasses of anisette to the living room, and we leaned back on the couch. Moxie, her toy poodle, curled up between us.

"You know, Cindy. There was something really wonderful about your restaurant scene. And, trust me, yes people noticed, but who cares? It was over in a nanosecond. I was, well... kind of proud of you."

Cindy looked at me.

"You were?"

"Absolutely!"

Cindy gave a warm smile. She seemed shy about it all.

"It felt good, actually." she ventured.

"From my own experience, I can tell you that that is the path for you to travel now. You've got to purge yourself of these battened down feelings. Look, Cindy. You're a very genteel, kind lady. Do you agree?"

"I suppose." she said, swirling the clear liqueur in her glass.

"Yes or no."

She laughed. "Yes. That's me, all right."

"Well, it's time you branched out a bit, I'm supposing, eh? You know, I see your table-pounding tonight as kind of a short but powerful debutante event, you know? Not like being presented into society, more like, well... jumping feet-first into a world of strength, of womanhood."

Cindy reached out and gave me a quick hug. There were tears in her eyes, but they were somehow different from the ones I was accustomed to seeing there. There was a light behind them, a clarity, and there were the beginnings of strength.

Cindy went to the kitchen and returned with the bottle. We sat back and chatted. She seemed freer and more relaxed than I'd seen her in some time. We talked about Roland, what a turd he was. There wasn't much of ambivalence in her voice or her expression. That was new. We eventually sipped our way through half the bottle.

"It's so good sitting here talking with you, Gretchen." Cindy said, slumped lazily on the couch. "It kind of soothes the hurt parts of me, you know. They're still there, of course."

"I'd venture to say that a part of that pain is brought on by your, well..." I began, wanting to take care in how I broached the subject, "by your not acknowledging your resentment. It's important to really feel that, you know, viscerally."

I could see that Cindy was getting a bit tipsy. She'd swayed a bit on her way to the bathroom.

"You mean the fact that I hate his fucking guts?" she said.

"You have every reason to hate him, Cindy. He's an out-and-out pig. Am I right?" I said, hoping to coax the vitriol from her. She was drunk, but that could be helpful in the process.

"No. Not a pig... A swine! I like that better. a filthy, fucking swine." she said, with an edge, almost a growl, in her voice.

Now, the only other time, over many years, that I heard Cindy swear was when a car driven by a senile old woman jumped the curb while we were walking along a sidewalk, and she'd said "Holy shit!" Otherwise, she went no further than "gosh" or "darn".

I picked up a throw pillow from where it had slipped onto the carpet. I held it out in front of me with both hands.

"Here, Cindy." I said. "This is Roland. Show him how you feel. Don't hold back."

She gave a few sharp jabs with her small fists, then, suddenly, she was flailing away at it. Her face was contorted into a look of intensity and rage. I had to sit back some so as not to get into the line of fire!

"Fucking swine!" she snarled. She grabbed at the pillow, wrenched it from my hands and threw it on the floor. She began stamping on it, mashing her heel into it.

"You worthless piece of shit!" she hissed.

I simply sat back and let her go. It was beautiful. She kicked it clear across the room where some framed photographs on the sideboard fell over, some clattering onto the floor.

Cindy stood in the middle of the room, her hands clenched at her sides.

I guess I drank too much, Gretch." she said, but then she laughed.

"One more glass won't hurt, though, eh?" she said, relaxing now and returning to the couch. She flopped down heavily.

"Boy! That was fun. Thanks for thinking it up."

"Pillow-punching is a staple of the therapy-at-home movement, girlfriend. Anyway, glad you got into it. Feel better?"

"Yeah... Yeah! I really do. I sure do." she said.

In a minute, her eyes began to droop. I walked her into her bedroom and got her down to her undies and under the covers in no time. She gave a long and satisfied yawn.

"Mmmmm. I'm gonna sleep like a baby. Thanks, Gretch."

With that, she rolled onto her side and was almost instantly asleep. I found a couple of blankets in the closet and went out to curl up on the couch. I wanted to be there the next morning.

I awoke the next day to the sound of rain on the window sill. I dressed, then tiptoed to Cindy's room. Taking a quick peek inside, I saw that she was still asleep, sprawled across the bed diagonally under the sheet. How cute! She was snoring lightly, almost a purr.

I went to the kitchen and quietly made coffee. In ten minutes or so, Cindy appeared in the doorway.

"Boy. I feel great." she said as she walked past me to the coffee maker. "And that's a surprise. Normally, drinking gives me a headache the next day. How are you doing this morning?"

"The couch was very comfortable." I said. "I'm feeling pretty well myself."

She poured some food for Moxie into her bowl, then came to the table with her cup.

"What you up to today?" she queried.

"Called in. Taking the day off." I said. "You?"

"About to do the very same thing, don't you know." she replied. "We could spend the day together, what do you say?" she continued.

It was a pleasant proposition.

"Sure. I'd love to."

"Breakfast here, or breakfast out?" she said, holding her cup in both hands and sipping.

"On me, my dear. The Troubadours has good breakfasts. Shall we? Anyway, we have things to talk about."

"Hmmm? What's that?"

"We'll talk." I said.

"Great. You shower first. I need to check my email."

We went to The Troubadours and we both had big wedges of their signature bacon, spinach, and parmesan frittata with roasted fingerling potatoes. Good as ever. These folks can really cook.

Cindy sat back into the red vinyl of the booth patting her belly.

"Whew! That was something." she said.

'And you were gonna have the granola." I said, playfully mocking her original choice.

"I think I know why you woke up feeling good this morning." I said, hoping she would pick up on the innuendo.

"I know, Gretchen. Believe me, when I kicked that pillow across the room I felt like I was kicking Roland in the balls. That's when I felt I could be free of him." she said. "It was so... freeing! It felt so cool. Me, little old me, telling him to step off, and forever." she said.

"That's just the ticket, girlfriend." I said, smiling.

"But don't let that fire go out." I continued. "I can well imagine a sweetheart like you slipping back into second-guessing. I'm not saying you have to be fuming 24/7, but there are ways to keep that important edge of indignation honed. Believe me, you need to see the true nature of men, their duplicity, their schemes. It's that that you need to be ready to see 24/7".

Roland certainly had plenty of schemes." she said, and a dark look came over her.

"Sure, hon. He's a lowlife." I said. "Take Bobby. He was a lowlife and he'll remain one till his ashes go into an urn. But the thing with Bobby is, he knows that now."

"What do you mean...exactly?"

Ah. I'd piqued some interest.

"You've been out with us in the past, right? You've got an idea of what he's about."

"Well, always saw him as self-absorbed. He could be very boorish, too." Cindy volunteered. "It seemed to me he was that way at your expense. I always assumed it was because he was insecure."

"He is, Cindy. To this day, actually," I told her.

I pondered to what extent I wished to bring her into my confidence. I did really yearn to share my home life with someone. Moreover, I felt that telling Cindy about the "new" Bobby might put her on a path where she could exorcise her doubts and begin to revel in her womanhood and her, (as yet) untapped power over the blustery, macho types who, in truth, are weaklings. I wanted her to have the kind of pleasure I found in reducing Bobby to a whimpering, manageable little dog.

"I always thought it was an act of sorts," she continued, "and that at home, things were different."

"Yeah. He dialed it down some when we were alone, but he still had that air of being the main attraction. That's changed, though."

"How so?"

"Well, a few months back, I laid it on the line with him. I told him I wasn't taking any more of his shit."

"good for you, Gretch!" she said.

"I got tough with him, Cindy. Believe me, that strutting rooster bit was all veneer. Once I put my foot down, he more or less crumbled before me. It was a real eye-opener."

"What do you mean 'crumbled'?" she said, with an acutely curious look on her face. She leaned across the table a bit. Yeah, she was interested.

"I think he saw that I was ready to put him out with the garbage, Cindy. And I was! You know he's just working part-time, right? And I'm the one who's on the lease. I mean, he saw just how dependent he was. That's when I got a good look at the frightened little boy in him.

"It all sounds like an improvement." she said, laughing a bit. "So he's changed, eh?"

"Girl, he does what I tell him, and has no complaints. He's, well... docile. Does all the housework, dishes, bathroom, laundry. It's like having a maid!"

"Damn, Gretch! You go girl!" she piped, clearly impressed with my achievement.

"He treats me like I'm his boss, Cindy. And, you know what? That's what I am," I said, spreading my fingers on the table before me, and beaming at my friend.

"Wow! Sounds like he's got some real respect for you. Do you... I mean... what about sex? That's got to be different, eh?"

"Remember the time I asked for Moxie's breed document?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Guess who the little doggie is."

"You mean..."

"Yep. that's the arrangement these days, my friend. I treat Bobby as if he were my dog and, you know what? He loves it!"

"He's your dog? Holy shit! How... well, let's have some details, Gretch!"

"I'd already got him pretty well under my thumb," I continued, "when I presented him with the breeder document, all personalized for him. I mean, he, apparently, was born for the role. He accepted it and, even better, it got him going!"

"You mean, it got him hot?" she asked, with a little sparkle in her eye.

"In a big way, Cindy. He even gets horny when I need to discipline him."

"What do you do, smack him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper?" she said, falling over onto the seat convulsed with laughter.

"No." I said, my tone now serious. "I take a belt to him."

"you beat him?" she whispered, sitting upright.

"When he needs it. Or I slap him around. Sometimes when he's done nothing wrong. Either way, he takes it. You should see him after one of those sessions."

Yeah?"

"He gets super contrite. Apologizing. Sometimes he doesn't know what he's apologizing for. He cries."

"Bobby cries?"

"It's very satisfying, really, for me to see, after all the bullshit I'd put up with over the years. Yeah. he just kneels on the floor at my feet and blubbers away."

"Damn." Cindy said in a low voice.

"After that I just send him into the closet for the rest of the day."

"The closet?"

"That's where he sleeps and where I put him when he needs a time out."

"Wow... Wow!... he sleeps in your closet. Holy shit, Gretchen. Oh, hey, what's his dog name, and all?"

"Bobby now goes by Bobo."

"great choice, Gretch! Ha, ha! Excellent. Bobo the dog."

I hope you're not thinking all this is weird, or anything. I..."

"No way! I think it's cool as hell." she said at once. "Why, you've got this douchebag on a string..."

"A leash, girlfriend." I interjected.

"Yes, a leash. And he does whatever you tell him to do. Jeez!"

"He's still a douchebag at heart, but he's completely given up acting like one. It's pretty much the kind of home life I could enjoy for the foreseeable future." I said.

"It's, well, it's very... intriguing." Cindy said, giving me a searching look.

"Well, since you're intrigued and all, how about paying a visit sometime? Meet Bobo?"

She hesitated, but I could see she wanted to see it all for herself.

"Sure... sure, Gretchen." she said. then with more confidence,

"I'd love to, really. Shit. Bobo the dog. No, really, I can't wait."

"Tomorrow after work, then? It'll give me time to prep Bobo a bit. Not that he's got anything to say about it. Actually, knowing what a pervert he is, he'll probably love the idea of showing another woman what he's become. So, date?"

"You bet! It's a date."

To be continued.